Friday, July 30, 2010

As sex becomes more and more casual, sometimes we forget that there is an etiquette that must be followed.

Etiquette, after all, is just a fancy word for being considerate of another person - whether it is not farting in public or showering before receiving a rim job.

This is truest during a one-night stand where there is no relationship that exists; thus we are at the mercy of each other. It is easy to treat the other person as an object but a gentleman or a lady knows we may fuck like beasts but we are not brutes. Manners are still necessary and some level of respect should exist between the two parties. (I respect you; thank you for blowing me last night.)

Who knows... Perhaps, we can make the world a better place, one sex act at a time.

The Morning After
You wake up the next day with a headache, roll over and discover that a stranger is in your bed. Or, you find yourself in another bed.

Suddenly, you remember. That kiss in the club. Zippers unzipping. Tongues lashing.

The sex was great. But now you want him or her to leave.

Once the sun comes up, some form of acknowledgement of the previous night's encounter is required. A brief exchange of friendly banter and joking around is ideal.

If you are the host, it is polite to offer your guest a cup of coffee or tea before showing them out. If you are the guest, it is most polite not to over extend your stay. Leave as quickly as possible.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

"Have you ever unfollowed anyone?" he asked everyone around the table.

Interesting, I thought to myself. I was with a group of bloggers and we started talking about why we "follow" the stories of a certain writer. And why we stop.

Nine years ago, I opened a blog to serve as a repository of things that I liked; quotes from films, books, articles, poems, and songs.

I started writing regularly last year as a way to make sense of a breakup then. I also read more and more blogs and became acquainted with their owners' stories. It was a distraction then, and it was fun reading the drama of their lives, whether it was a fuck in the gym, a fight between best friends, or another love affair ending.

People at the table started offering their opinions on what constitutes good writing. One said he doesn't like reading stories of overly gay men. Another feels some stories are fabricated. Someone said other people's writings are difficult to decipher; too cryptic. And some said most people's stories are simply, well… boring.

I was curious. When I checked the number of blogs I was following, I was astounded. Wow, apparently, it's either there are almost 200 very good bloggers out there or I'm not very discriminating in my taste.

While browsing these blogs, I realized most bloggers are able to churn out one or two amazing, brilliant pieces that really blow you away. That one story that made people fall in love with you. Usually, these are the stories that are the most personal, the ones closest to our hearts.

But sooner or later, the drama in our lives end and our stories become, well … ordinary.

Still, there are those who can bring the magic out of the mundane. As Mary Norris, copy writer at The New Yorker, once said, "A good writer can make you care about anything."

There are stories from our daily lives that can transform from just an anecdote into an experience.

Something we can tell our friends about. Something that made us laugh. Something that made us think. It is our personal reflection that makes our experiences unique.

When I examined the kinds of stories I like, I realize I am a very conservative reader. I like form and structure. I like grammar and spelling. I like economy and precision.

But that's just me. Blogs are a person's private kingdom and in that space, their rules govern.

"I'll write what I want to, how I want to."

And I respect that.

Every now and then, I stumble into a writer who reminds me that writing can be elegant. That reading can be a joy.

They shock, they surprise, they titillate. They make you cry, remember, or forget.

And then, once in a while, you discover a writer who changes you.

"I need you to understand something. I wrote this for you. I wrote this for you and only you. Everyone else who reads it, doesn’t get it. They may think they get it, but they don’t. This is the sign you’ve been looking for."
---I Write This For You

Monday, July 26, 2010

Last week, I chanced upon these status messages while scrolling through my friends' updates in Facebook.

"Z is under renovation."
"J is under renovation."

Hmmmmm. Okay. Under renovation. It sounded so cryptic.

Days later, I was with my friend Fernando and I told him what I discovered.

"Grabe, Z and J had their noses done," I announced. "Nakakaloka!"

"Ay. Charice much?" he replied.

"I know. Next week daw ang soft launch sa Malate."

We both laughed.

"Hindi ba maganda naman ilong nila?" Fernando asked me.

"Exactly. Ganoon na ba ka grabe ang competition?"

"Ang hirap pala kung ganoon. Ikaw ba, may ipapabago?"

His question got me into thinking. I have always regarded plastic surgery as something I may consider far, far into the future. What I haven't realized was that the future could be now.

That night, I stared at the reflection in the mirror hanging in my bathroom. I looked at myself long and hard.

Not bad for 30. Still…

I have few wrinkles, but I have wrinkles. Six lines on my forehead to be exact.

My eyes crinkle a bit when I smile and laugh too hard.

My nose can look more pointed

I can always use one more dimple. Or two.

As the years pass, I am certain I will lose whatever good looks that remain. My skin will sag, my tummy will become bigger. I will look, heaven forbid, old.

Will I survive this harsh, unforgiving gay world armed only with an eyeliner? Or should I succumb to the knife and the youth and beauty that it brings?

Surely, Botox can't be that bad, right? Or a nose job can't hurt. But where does it end?

There is a fine, fine line between beauty and a lie.

Most people are afraid to grow old alone. So to prevent that from happening, some decided if they cannot grow old, they cannot grow old alone.

It's like buying time. One more year, one more chance at love.

Others fear the loss of beauty.

"Age hits the beautiful hardest of all, because some homely people tend to grow into their looks, and consequently look better at 40 than they did at 20," Rudeboy told me while we were discussing plastic surgery.

My friends J and Z are both good looking and popular. They go to the gym regularly and they sport lean fit bodies.

They get more than their fair share of men. The lucky ones, as we would say. But we can always be more beautiful, apparently. It is never enough.

After all, every year, a new crop of gay guys land on the streets of Malate. They stand there, young and beautiful.

And no matter what you say, they will always be competition. And, youth possesses such an advantage.

As I stared at myself more in the mirror, I realized I like myself at 30. And that, looking back, I have always been content with how I look like.

I can only hope that each year, as I look at myself in the mirror, that same reflection looks back at me.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

I am curious by nature; about the world, about people. When I started reading blogs, I always ask myself: who are these people? Why do they write what they write? And, what are the things they don't write?

I decided to start a series of interviews with writers, bloggers, artists, and friends that I will publish here in my blog. The project will be called Spit Roast: spit it out while you roast. It is my hope that by having a dialogue with them, I will learn more about who they are, and who they are not.

And ultimately, every discovery about the other leads us back to the discovery of the self.

Many many months ago, I came across a blog entry about smoking. The writer talked about his memories of cigarettes and how it figured in different episodes of his life.

I liked the way he wrote it so I decided to post this comment.

I love this story. Your style reminds me of Raymond Carver, sparse, quiet, elegant, tender."And so I huff. And I puff. Until I blow my house down."

The writer wrote back.

You're very sweet, Kane. Thank you. I don't know about "sparse" but even Raymond Carver once objected to being edited. His story "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love." is something I think we've all done at one point in our lives. Sitting around getting wasted as more truths come out the drunker we get.

But since I am an unwilling teetotaler these days, there is no in vino veritas for me. Only in fumo fantasia.

I was floored. Wow, he actually knows who Raymond Carver is. And the story, "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love". And who uses the word teetotaler, anyway?

My curiosity was piqued. Who is this guy? I became a regular reader of his stories. His style was distinctive,
And there are times when we would exchange banters.

One time, he wrote about Pink and her song Just Like a Pill. I made a comment about his entry.

Around six weeks ago, you said

"Actually, what made me wince and want to burn the damn diary was seeing how angst-ridden I was, and how stupid, and how roundly ignorant of so many things."

So, still angst-ridden after all these years, are we? =) This is my favorite Pink song. I hope things will get better soon. =)

In his reply, he said this:

Ah, you've caught me at a rather vulnerable time ;) No matter how hard we try, there will always be chinks in the armor.

At the risk of pre-empting the follow-up to this post, I will say that while we do change, we do not change completely. I will always have angst: what has changed is what I am angsty about, and how much, and what I do - or do not do - about it.

The same goes for my stupidity and my ignorance. I am wiser in some things, stupider in others, and yet ever-ignorant about many more.

It is a process that goes on until we die. We adapt. We learn. We change, or we perish. Which says volumes about my decade of slow, almost imperceptible, but sure decay.

I answered back.

Hahaha nagulat ako ang haba ng reply mo. And at the risk of sounding like your philosophy teacher, I will say that while we do not change completely, we do change. Some more than others.

Some changes are imperceptible, you barely notice them. What we are angsty about, and no longer angsty about. Wisdom tells us which things really matter most, after all.

And we can only hope as our bodies decay, our minds will glow ever brighter. =)

The first time I left a comment on his blog, he promised me one thing... that he will try not to be boring. And he wasn't.

His writings stretch from a tribute to Alexander McQueen, an analysis of the architectural design of Manila to the occasional critique of religion. He adored the play of words, I told him once, he is a wordsmith.

Whenever I would attend a party hosted by a blogger, I would always ask: is he here? Alas, as I discovered, nobody knows who he is.

I found out he is reclusive and reticent, much like a hermit living in the mountains. So I decided to climb the mountain and look for him. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...Rudeboy.

Why do you blog?

I started blogging almost a year ago because I thought I was going to die and wanted to get my thoughts down.

Really.

I might publish the actual entries that I wrote as I counted down to what I believed then was my impending doom. I had read up enough on the thing to know that I had a three-month window between a hideous death and the possibility of a reprieve.

Or not.

So why are you still blogging until now?

Coz I ain't dead yet?

But now that you're no longer going to die… or at least, I hope death is not imminent

HAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, you're dashing the hopes of so many of my foes. bad, BAD boy.

(Grins.) What's the story behind your blog name?

Both components of my blog name were truer at one point than they are now. I was rude, and once upon a time, I was but a boy.

Maturity, unfortunately, may sharpen the wit, but it takes the edge off the cruelty.

Perhaps I should change it to Grumpy Daddy.

What is the most significant/memorable blog post you've ever read?

Easily the one Eternal Wanderer wrote about a friend of his whose mother had just recently died - Memento Mori was the blog post. The friend's poignant words "Wala na si Nanay. Wala na akong masungit na ina." unexpectedly struck me, and I suddenly wanted to cry.

Maybe it was the matter-of-fact delivery of the bereaved friend, which belied the depths of his loss. Or the practical/existential question of who would now tend the lost mother's orchid garden. Or maybe because mothers are the first important people in a child's life and no one ever wants to lose theirs - no matter how nagging, overbearing, controlling, or imperfectly human they might be.

That song pretty much said everything about how I feel about ...well, you're a sharp cookie. And in my moments of despair, that's exactly what I want to do.

Run just as fast I can ... to the middle of nowhere...

You know, that is my favorite entry of yours too.Very raw... and honest. We all wanted to run away, at some point in our lives.

Ah... I think it's a shared human experience, isn't it?

Who are your favorite bloggers and why?

Hahaaaaaaaaa oooooooooooooooooh.

This is gonna burn, innit?

Okay, right off the top of my head, then. And in no particular order - just like a beaucon.

1. citybuoy - I was impressed by the unpretentiousness of his posts, coupled with excellent writing skills. A rare combination, indeed. Also, smart boys have a special appeal for me, and Nyl already knows - or if he doesn't yet, he sure hell knows now - that I would like to fuck his brains out.

2. Eternal Wanderer - Because he is my chat friend and because he is silly. That is all.

3. Mandaya Moore - Insert Current BF's Surname Here - Again, refreshingly candid and devoid of pretense. It was a delight to backread all his entries and the unfolding of the many twists and turns of his personal life was a joyful treat.

4. Joel McVie - Sage and smart and straightforward, but never boring. Occasionally sassy and also has a shallow side, which is also refreshing. Unrelentingly emo blogs get duller faster than a date with a mow-del.

And Joel was also the first blogger to link to mine, so there's that. I'm not totally all sour cream and chives - I can get sentimental, too.

5. Engel - His coming out and coming to terms with all that entails is a work in progress that I follow with great interest.

6. Kane - Siempre kasama ka, and not just because you wrote this Proust Questionnaire. I always read your posts - though I don't always comment - because as I told you once, you are a writer among bloggers.

If it isn't evident by now, I am fascinated by the juxtaposition of elements that at first glance seem at odds with each other. You, for instance, can easily come across as a flighty pretty boy whose interests do not seem to go beyond his chichi friends, the drama of his lovelife, or the importance of eyeshadow.

But it is the depth beneath that glossy surface that continually interests me.

Errr. What eyeshadow? (I hate you Rudeboy. Was that really necessary?)

But seriously, you're making me blush Rudie. Thank you.

More often than not, we do find people who understand us, our stories. But once in a while, you meet someone who understands you in exactly the same way you wanted to be understood. You have said as much, I think, but it is eerie how we are in the same page sometimes.

The people you mentioned will bear closer examination from here on. =) Most, if not all of them, are wildly popular and are well-known for their writing skills.

Your profile doesn't include a contact information. Was this a deliberate choice so people cannot contact you directly except through your blog?

What a sharp cookie you are, indeed.

Yes, I didn't include contact info in my profile because I figured if people had something to say, they could say it in the Comments Section.

Also, I didn't think it was relevant. It's a blog, not a goddamned g4m profile.

And also, as you know by now, I very seldom check my "personal" (read: booty call) email account, and as you also know, I loathe texting even more than I loathe Arroyo.

Errr. Rudie, I think it's now called PlanetRomeo. Just an FYI =)

Why are you reclusive and reticent? Are you open to the idea that people you meet through your blog can become ... well... friends?

Ah there's a question. Which deserves an honest answer.

I have no doubt we'll meet in person, you and I. But in the same manner that, as you observed, I have no contact info in my blog. I'd like to choose who I'd like to meet. It's not that I'm snooty.

You're aware how vicious this community can be. We all love rumors, of course, but it's never fun when one is the subject of chatter, let's admit it. A decade ago I wouldn't have minded in the least. But nowadays, well, life saddles me with other concerns.

Wow, and I was just thinking of blogging about that in a Mid-Year Report.

Alas, not one of those promises to myself has been kept. Miles have gone and I have slept.

You mentioned before you cannot drink alcohol until this year according to your doctor's advice. Why was that? Are you allowed to drink alcohol now?

Did you backread everyone else's posts? I'm impressed at the journalistic background-checking here, impressed, I say!

I couldn't drink because it was directly related to that potentially life-threatening thing I mentioned above. It just sounds more dramatic than it actually is. It's not like my liver has bailed on me or anything - it was actually something a little more boring and stupid than that, but no less potentially fatal.

As a child, I was brought up never to disobey doctor's orders. Hence, I wish he'd forbidden me to stop smoking as well, but since that had no bearing on the previous threat to my earthly existence, well...

I've since been happily reunited with San Mig Light (or Cerveza Negra), but like an old flame, the reunion was bittersweet. I just can't hold my liquor like I used to. Or maybe it's but part of a larger whole.

And now that I've had my tempestuous and expensive Italian fling, I'm ready for some German lovin'.

I noticed you rarely talk about your relationships in your blog. Do you have a boyfriend?

"A" boyfriend?

Question is: do I want one? Better yet, do I need one? Or one more, as it so happens.

Oooh. That is probably another story.

Based on your tags, you are equally fascinated with shallowness and reflections. =) Why is that?

Again, the juxtaposition of odd elements, which aren't usually commonly perceived to go together. Like brawn and brains. Bloggers and sense. Lady Gaga and taste. And so on.

What do you think is your public image as a blogger? How do you think people see you? And, is that accurate?

I can't honestly say I spend much time thinking about it, although I will admit to a little curiosity as to how readers perceive me via the things I write.

If they think about me at all, I think most readers must think I'm a brooding, opinionated dick. An occasionally reflective dick, but a dick nonetheless. I daresay I've lost a follower or two because of my snide remarks about the Holy Roman Emperor Palpatine or Catholicism in general, or my unsolicited opinions on how doomed to fail some people's quests for "love" are because they can't yet distinguish "love" from "lust", but hey, dem there's the breaks.

Surely you've scanned my comments sections, investigative journo that you are hehe, and I don't get scads of swooning adulation or fawning compliments.

Which is just how I like it. I appreciate being read at all. That people actually take precious time to read my ramblings is a gift and an honor in itself. But getting comments is a special bonus which I do not take lightly. That readers, by and large, respond to whatever blog topics I've written about, and share their own takes on the matter, is rewarding. I enjoy the back-and-forth in the Comments Section, and I do try to reply to each one - except maybe the Chinese spammers, to whom I can only extend a heartfelt piao xi, xie xie.

Based on your stories, you seem like a man weary of life. There's a little bit of tiredness in some of them. Why is that? Are you ... happy?

As for weariness... Well, you know.

As for happiness, I'll be happy when I buy that Porsche.

Every guest gets a chance to ask one question.

Rudeboy: Does your biggest fault match your biggest virtue?

Your question assumes too many things; that 1) I actually have faults (grins), and better yet, 2) I actually have virtues (grins wider).

Alas Rudie, as you may have learned, the taming of the shrew can require a lifetime of work. You may have cut the hydra's head only to discover seven more sprouted in its place.

But I'd like to believe that our demons, no matter how complex, can be tamed by the desire to be good. And since I'd like to be good, then perhaps that desire is my greatest virtue. Which can be greater than all my flaws combined.

Still, there are some monsters that we may have to live with the rest of our lives. Or not.

Friday, July 16, 2010

There are many stories in the world. Most of them are left unwritten and live only in the memories of the people involved.

I have decided to share my space and invite guest writers to share their stories, in their own voices. That way, their stories will go on. The project will be called Open Spaces. My first guest is V and here is his story.

In June 2004, my friend and I were exchanging our views on love.

My friend said:

You're just looking at what's on the outside. I guess it's better to be underestimated than overestimated, yes?

If I can recall watching Batibot -- Kandirit was that skipping game. Or if we use context clues, you mean the sparks and fireworks.

True enough, there are kandirits in the beginning. But true love comes when the element of sacrifice for the other is executed, no?

I'm sure you've thought of this -- I haven't. It came into mind when so many people tore this naive heart of mine and raped me off my innocence for their pleasure or self gain.

Alas, I'm not one to be taken down so easily. Not much was stolen when they reaped my body. They can never have my heart then, right? The spirit is willing, the body is weak yet the heart enduring.

So is my view on love.

And yours, as I heard, is quite budding compared to mine.

Or am I mistaken? -- must I digest some more detail, my friend?

I replied:

In this fast paced every-man-for-himself world where people change relationships like neon signs on the road, it gives me a sense of comfort and security to hold on to the things that I hope and believe in; that I haven’t betrayed an old part of me — or something like that.

Better underestimated than overestimated, yes; for you should always keep your cards, your aces. Even in my idealisms, I always keep my guard up, my defenses intact. I maybe a dreamer but I am no fool; for I know there is no greater pain than that of a broken heart. Fortitude they say brings out the best in a person. It's not what you bear but how you bear it. I admire how you managed to stay strong after a torn heart and a raped innocence. It takes a lot of courage and strength to have faith again on something that caused you pain. Kudos.

Kandirits, fireworks… it comes with the thrill of young early love. But what happens when the knees get tired, or when the light display is nothing but smoke? A sore knee or a blind eye I hope not, for I believe that when two people who are in love, they would be generating their own fireworks; living their shared lives in skips and hops. Call me idealistic, but yeah, I do believe in it.

My view on love is budding as compared to yours? Maybe. I guess so. You might have taken the advanced course on love and relationship already as I am yet to finish a semester (only a person of vast experience can use the word sacrifice. I still can’t). I try not to think about love, for love is really something you don’t think of. I guess it just comes to you, like a key lime pie smacked at your unsuspecting face.

But I am guilty of thinking of it sometimes — at night in bed mostly. You just can’t ignore those thoughts of love as it visits your window. Some people see it as a nuisance. I see it as a treat.

oOo

I was so much younger then when I wrote this. Looking back, I see that it was not just my view on love that I was trying to convey, but also the unwavering hope inside of me that I know I share with practically everyone. The hope that someday we will fall in love; to find the right, if not the perfect partner to love us and to love them in return for as long as we live. That after the love stories we’ve shared, the romantic movies we saw, and the fantasies we’ve conjured every night before going to bed alone, we hope that one day love will happen to us. That one day love will happen to me. And it did.

Three months after writing this piece, I met the love of my life, and I learned a lot about love --- things that I never even imagined when I was younger. The love I had taught me about how it is to give without asking in return, and what it feels to receive without duty to give back. That whatever rut you are in, love certainly will save you and comfort you and assure you that everything is ok, that you will be ok.

I learned to be selfless through compromise while keeping in mind to not lose myself in the process. I learned that love indeed is never selfish and never proud. And yes, true love comes when the element of sacrifice is executed for the other, and not feel an ounce of resentment or regret. I loved truly and deeply. I loved with all my heart, and it was wonderful.

It’s been almost two years now since I’ve been single; and as I revisit this piece, the stage in my life that captured the hope and excitement of having to experience love for the first time; I can’t help but look back and realize how far I’ve come. Events in the past have lead me to reassess my beliefs and views about love and relationships. But regardless from where I was and where I am now, one thing is for certain: that the hope I had in me remains unyielded.

I can’t help but ask myself: “So V, what does happen now that the fireworks have ended, and there’s nothing left but smoke?”

I say, if you look past the smoke that often times tears up the eyes and suffocates the body, you will feel a sense of such overwhelming gratitude that you were blessed with a wonderful experience that only those who have loved and were loved back can know of. You are left nothing but aplenty of beautiful memories to remember, and that no one or nothing can take it away from you. You have learned lessons that you can never gather out of books or movies or whatever references man has made or will ever make.

I know that the time will come that the smoke will completely clear up, but even if the view from where I stand now is slightly hazy, I know deep in my heart that the world is as bright and as hopeful as how I first wrote about it.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

They say past relationships can scar us, but some scars are so hidden it takes a while before it reveals itself.

"You know what honey, I realized something about myself," I said to V.

It was one of those days when V and I were talking about the men in our lives, or the lack thereof. How difficult it is to find someone who you like, who likes you back.

"I have noticed that recently, whenever a good looking guy with a well-built body would tell me he likes me, there is a part of me that is a little disbelieving. It's like, why me?"

"Really? But why?" V said.

"I was surprised too. But when I tried to understand where it was coming from, I realized it was all because of M," I replied.

"You know I have always been confident of myself. I know I'm not the best looking guy in the world or the smartest or the funniest but that's okay," I explained. "I get my fair share of men."

"But something changed within me after my breakup," I said slowly. "I guess it's because M cheated on me so many times. I was never enough for him, and if I wasn't enough for him, why would I be enough for anyone?"

I looked at V. He was looking at me, and in that moment, I knew he understood. He was there, he saw it all.

"And whenever someone as hot as M or F would come along, I guess a part of me thinks why would someone like him want someone like me?"

"Off in the night while you live it up I'm off to sleep
Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat
I hope it's gonna make you notice
Someone like me"
---"Use Somebody", Kings of Leon

Monday, July 12, 2010

Fran was going out with Zion, an Israeli, earlier this year. They had great sex and great talk. She thought he was everything she wanted until she learned he had been telling people she was stalking him. She has not seen him since May.

"Honey!!! Oh my God! Zion will be at the sports bar tonight," Fran said while savoring a grilled chicken fettuccine at Italianni's last night.

"So, what's the game plan?" I asked her.

"I don't know," she replied. "All I wanted to do was enjoy the World Cup. I'm so stressed."

"What do you want from him exactly?" I said.

"Last time, I said that I will pour a bottle of Cerveza Negra over him the next time we meet," Fran said. "But now, I definitely don't want to do that. I would only humiliate myself."

"Good," I said. "Although that would have been quite a scene. I bet you'd steal the spotlight away from the game."

"I'm planning to invite Fifi, the French guy I'm seeing," Fran told me. "He texted me a couple of nights ago to say he was sick but that he wants to see me again."

Ladies, forget Spain and Netherlands. Looks like it's France versus Israel tonight. Will the Holocaust crush the French revolution? Or will the Queen let them eat cake?

"Oh honey. You know what really sucks?" I said. "A year from now, you won't remember this night because of the World Cup. It's really still all about Zion, right? Whether he comes, or not. If you see him, you'll get upset. If you don't see him, you'd still get upset. If he talks to you, you'll get upset. If he ignores you, you'd still get upset. Nakakainis diba?"

"So what do I do?" Fran asked me. "It feels like whatever I do, I end up losing the game."

"You can always get out of the game. But I guess sometimes we don't get to choose our scripts. We just have to play the role, at least for tonight," I told her. "You'll be fine honey. We'll get through this, like we always do."

I smiled and gave Fran a big hug. Be brave, little one.

The next morning, I received a text from her.

"The World Cup concludes with Spain winning over Netherlands at 1 - 0 with additional time. Similarly, France gets a point for braving the possibility of an encounter while Israel was a no-show.

But unlike football, you don't win this game by forfeit. The enemy must be annihilated. Mostly in a figurative sense. Though we wish it to be literal sometimes.

Tuesday, July 06, 2010

On the Upper East Side, it's easy to think that the world is exactly as it appears. Refined, elegant, imposing. But sometimes, all it takes is a little alcohol to open the door to the wild side.

The birthday ball has ended, and are you ready for the 411 on what's up and who went down?

Word is the boy from Brooklyn finally made it to the East. Who knew G would learn the trick so quickly: to get over a guy, you need a new guy. Or in this case, two.

Looks like the virgin blogger isn't as pure as he pretends to be. Who's your Daddy, G? Talk about doing the nasty, or should I say, being nasty.

And as for AA, you left Manila a star, but with your exploits last Saturday, you landed back a supernova.

Spotted: a very drunk AA sleeping in the halls of the Palace hotel. Looks like you didn't disappoint the tabloids after all. Talk about almost being locked up in jail.

Oh no. We warned you no good would come from such a temper. You just get all tangled up in your anger. Until you're trapped in a prison of your own making. Smile for the camera AA.

And in the other side of the room: Spotted RC: faced with a reversal of fortune after switching roles. Who knew wearing a mask would bring out his other side? A top or a bottom to be: is that the face or the mask I see?

Like all good things, the masquerade ball must come to an end. True natures are revealed. And for some, tricks are turned into treats. Like our birthday boy K.

Who is Kane?

I like stories. Whether they're of random strangers or close friends, people's stories hold me spellbound.
Every story leads us to an insight: Who are we? Why do we do the things we do? Why are we here, and not there?
Email me: kanesulfur@gmail.com

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In her memoir, Susan Jane talked about growing up uncool as a white kid in a tough Puerto Rican neighborhood, dreaming to be a ballerina, chasing after rock stars, having sex for the very first time.

She brings us back to the best (and the worst) parts of our childhood and our youth, helping us realize things are never as good (or as bad) as we remember them to be.

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For Emma, Forever AgoBon Hiver

Justin Veron, also known as Bon Iver, spent four months alone in a log cabin in the mountains of Wisconsin after the break-up of his band, DeYarmond Edison in 2006.

"The name refers to someone in my past, and it's not her real name," Veron said in an interview about the title of his album. "The dedication is not just to her, it's about the end of an entire era. The entire context of my life at that time was tied to this person, and this record is a way for me to flee from this thing."

For Emma captures the sound of broken and quiet isolation, wraps it in a beautiful package, and delivers it to your door with a beating, bruised heart.